


5 Bucks An Hour Better Be Worth It

by frankiemustdie



Category: Mr Robot
Genre: ?????, AU WHERE FSOCIETY DOESN'T EXIST, Cheating, Drug Use, Gay as hell, M/M, Swearing, babysitter, dom!tyrell, elliot is like 19 in this, elliot is still mentally ill, elliot's pov always, i have no idea what to tag this is my first """thing""", idk 20s is a lil old to be babysitting, it's a teen job right, right - Freeform, teen!elliot, work relationships
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-29
Updated: 2015-10-29
Packaged: 2018-04-28 19:45:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5103410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frankiemustdie/pseuds/frankiemustdie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Babysitting. Not exactly my first choice in careers or the perfect type for someone who passionately dislikes people. Kids aren’t excluded in that passion. </p><p>*******************</p><p>“Oh, and, just call me Tyrell.”<br/>I hesitated. His voice seemed so calming. Smooth. I liked it. He gave me a good feeling.<br/>“Bye, Tyrell.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	5 Bucks An Hour Better Be Worth It

**Author's Note:**

> By reading this you fully understand and accept the fact I could ditch this entirely or forget about it or leave it alone for a while or it could be absolutely shit. This is my first fic. I wanted to do it all in one go but it seems I don't have the attention span required. Thanks.

Hello. It’s 5am on the first day of my new job, which starts this evening. You’re probably wondering why I’m awake at this ungodly hour. Well, that’s anxiety for you. Topped with regular insomnia.

I reached over to my bedside drawers and weakly grabbed the remains of last night’s anxiety and lit it. Inhaling the smoke, I imagined what types of people I am going to encounter today. My eyes glance over to my apartment door and I hope no one sits next to me on the train this evening. I exhale.

Babysitting. Not exactly my first choice in careers or the perfect type for someone who passionately dislikes people. Kids aren’t excluded in that passion. The guy, Mr Wellick, seemed what could only be described as overtly pleasant and polite on the phone call. I haven’t met him in person yet but I’m okay with waiting. For all I know, he could be a serial murderer who hires babysitters for his non-existent child and gets them alone, drugs them, ties them up and hacks away at their limbs. If that happened to be the situation I don’t know if I’d be too bothered, honestly. I’d be more disappointed if he was really just some plain guy wanting a babysitter so he can go out, spend his normal life time doing normal things like partying, work, walks. Anyway, he says he’s got a wife and I think I heard her in the background of the phone call but if my assumptions were correct it could always be some innocent girl he hired the night before. Screaming. Begging for release. I’m getting carried away.

I took another long drag then put it out on my drawer and flicked it carelessly across the floor. I shut my eyes. I might as well at least try and get some more sleep before I’m aimlessly wandering my apartment or the streets trying to prepare for the evening. 5 bucks an hour better be worth it.

 

**********************************************************************************

 

Next thing I know my alarm is going off and I’ve had about 3 more hours of frequently interrupted sleep. It was set for 8am but it’s 8:27 right now. I sigh, stretch and kick my covers that were only covering half of my body onto the floor. The cold air now surrounding me entirely is enough to convince me to drag myself off the bed. I stand and rub my eyes, clearing them of the crust I obtained overnight. I notice the cigarette on the floor. What if you woke up one day with entirely crusted over eyes? I walk over to my sink, grab a half clean glass and pour out some water. The apartment walls are thin enough to let the bird’s chirping in. Or I’m hallucinating birds singing. This is the first sound I hear today.

The second sound is my default ringtone I haven’t cared to change since I bought my phone. I let out a yawn before I pick up.

“Hello?”

“Hi,” It’s Mr Wellick.

“It’s Tyrell, I’m just ringing to let you know I’m off to work right now and I shouldn’t be back until early morning. Say, 1 or 2am. My wife is available at the house right now until 7:30 so there’s no use for you ‘til then-”

“That’s perfect, Mr Wellick”

“Quite, now I apologize for ringing so early I’m actually in the car right now and having about 5 minutes ‘til I arrive at work I thought ringing sooner rather than later is more appropriate.”

“Oh, I don’t mind Mr Wellick; I’ve actually been up and ready a while anyway.” I took a sip from my water.

“Well, then you’ve got an entire day to pleasure yourself before you head on over.” The water caught in my throat.

“If you arrive by 7pm that should be fantastic. My wife can show you around and tell you everything you need to know and…” I was coughing repeatedly and mentally cursing myself. Mr Wellick’s words drowned out under my sounds.

“Elliot?” I cleared my throat.

“I’m sorry, yes; I’ll be there 7 Mr Wellick.”

“Great. Well I’ve got to go, but I look forward to meeting you in person.”

“Bye-“

“Oh, and, just call me Tyrell.”

I hesitated. His voice seemed so calming. Smooth. I liked it. He gave me a good feeling.

“Bye, Tyrell.”

He chuckled.

“Bonsoir, Elliot.”

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback appreciated, kiddos.


End file.
